


Ain't Missing You At All

by inlaterdays



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlaterdays/pseuds/inlaterdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to the Cable & Deadpool kinkmeme on LJ. </p><p>Prompt: "Some angst with Deadpool missing Cable, I mean they can't ever be happy because either Nate lobotomizes himself, blows himself up or runs off into the future."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Click. Click. Click.

Wade was channel-surfing, his never-lengthy attention span seeming shorter than usual. Nothing held his interest.

Click. Click.

Crap. What good were 70 channels when you couldn't get porn you hadn't seen before on any of them? Maybe he should spring for a satellite dish. Stupid cable.

Stupid Cable.

...Yeah, that was a direction he didn't want his thoughts going in. At all.

Back from the dead, and not so much as a hi-how-are-you; well, fine. It's not like they'd ever been partners or buddies or like they'd ever meant anything to one another or anything; not like Wade had, you know, saved his life (when he hadn't been trying to kill him), or swapped blood with him, or changed his freaking diapers...well, okay, Irene had done the diaper-thing during Nate's temporary regression to childhood, but still, but still...even if the guy was busy saving the world (again), you'd think he might make some time for an old friend...

But it wasn't like Wade cared...

Not like he ever thought about it with italics for emphasis or anything...

Stupid Cable.

Wade got up and fired a couple of rounds into his overstuffed armchair, because that usually made him feel better. It didn't, but it made Mr. Busybody-Eek-A-Gunshot-Downstairs-Neighbor start banging on the ceiling and yelling again. Wade stomped back in reply. Then kicked the armchair.

He had to get out, do something, go somewhere, and maybe blow some stuff up. Work out the ...feeling that he really wasn't feeling, he was just mad about thinking about feeling it, and oh hell, he had to get out.

"Calgon, take me away," Wade said. Yeah, right. He might as well say "bodyslide by two." That hadn't worked since Providence had blown up, of course, and anyway, he wasn't thinking about Nate. At all.

"Bodyslide by two," he said, anyway. (As if.)

Nothing happend. Wade laughed the most darkly sarcastic laugh he could darkly sarcas, and turned toward the door. Maybe he'd go out. Call Weasel. Something.

The room dissolved in a shimmer of blue light.

* * *

"...Wait. What?"

Wade stood shivering in his t-shirt and boxers under a clear night sky. The landscape was empty except for a creosote bush and a cactus or two. Looked like the Sonora Desert, but what was he doing in Arizona?

"That - should NOT have happened."

"What did you do, Wade?" a voice asked from behind him.

He'd know that (sexy, manly, shut up already, internal monologue) bass rumble anywhere.

"Oh. Hi, Nate," Wade said. Nonchalant. He was going to be _totally effing nonchalant_. As if it was the most natural thing in the world to find yourself suddenly teleported to the middle of nowhere, standing next your former comrade-in-arms who (whom) (who cares?) you didn't give a damn about, you didn't really. Despite the italics. You didn't. give. a. damn.


	2. Chapter 2

"That's it?" Cable asked, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Of course it was Cable, of course it was. It all made perfect sense, except the part where it didn't.

Wade shrugged.

Nate gave him a look. That look. The one with the raised eyebrow. He hated that look. He got it a lot. Used to get it...oh, hell. Hell five times and once with chocolate sprinkles.

Wade felt at a disadvantage, since he was barely dressed and furious (no, he wasn't), and Nate was standing there in full kit and heavy boots, using his face to make Wade feel stupid. So Wade talked.

"Well, I didn't do anything. I might have been thinking out loud. I don't know. Everything went ka-boom, right?" (Including you, oh, that had hurt...not that it mattered...) "Obviously I didn't plan to be standing freezing in the middle of the desert in my underwear. Or maybe that's not obvious. But I didn't. Why are we here? You're the smart one, you're the telepath; you tell me." (Wade tried to stomp his feet to get warm, stomped on a rock, said "ow"; was glad it wasn't a scorpion.)

Cable looked up at the stars. He looked careworn, probably hadn't been sleeping too well, and serve him right, too, ditching old friends like that...he'd better not be getting sick...because Wade wouldn't worry at all, wouldn't bring him chicken soup even once, wouldn't even think about it, so there.

"You're right, Wade."

"I am?"

"It shouldn't have happened. Someone must be messing around in the timestream again. I'll find a way to fix it when I go back." (Go back where? When?)

Wade crossed his arms.

Nate looked over at him.

Wade stared straight ahead.

"You've gone uncharacteristically quiet..."

Wade shrugged.

"What make you think of bodysliding?"

"I wasn't thinking of bodysliding."

"You just said you - "

"I must have said it by accident, okay, Nate? Slip of the tongue. If words were banana peels, my tongue would find them. I don't think of it. Not ever."

Nate smirked his annoyingly superior (wonderful) (shut up) Nate-smirk. And that was just freaking peachy. Like he didn't want to hit him already. Like his hands weren't balling into fists, he wasn't - wasn't - oh give me an excuse, Priscilla, just one excuse -

"Not ever?"

And that was it. That was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Wade rounded on Nate, socked him - hard - in the jaw, saw surprise (satisfaction?) in those cold blue eyes (cold as glaciers, blue as - oh God, shut up), and was on top of him before he had time to react, pummeling in blind fury.

So much for nonchalant. Nonchalant was for losers, anyway.

"You want to push buttons, Nate? I've got buttons. I've got lots of buttons. But you know that, don't you? You know everything. Always. Lots and lots of buttons, Nate, and you just pushed every. last. single. one."

Wade paused, panting. Nate was on the ground; Wade was straddling his chest, throwing punches furiously. Nate had been blocking, parrying, but not hitting back. He'd allowed Wade to knock him down; Wade knew it, and it only made him madder.

"You want to fight, Wade?"

(No.) "I always want to fight."

"Yeah, I seem to remember that about you." And the damn smirk was back, and Wade was off again, windmilling furiously while Nate parried.

"Of course you do! You remember everything, don't you? Everything that ever has happened, will happen, or might happen. Not like poor old formerly-brain-damaged-now-cured-but-still-an-idiot Deadpool. He's lucky if he can remember his own phone number. Wait, what is my phone number? I mean, I never call myself. Oh, hell. You remember everything in the universe. Everything except maybe how to drop by to see an old friend."

Oh, great. Well, that was just abso-freakin-lutely great. It was out. He had said that out loud.

"Is that what this is about, Wade?" The expression in those cold blue eyes softened. Damn him. Damn him. If that was pity, he could shove it up his - if that was pity, Wade was so going to kill him. Right here, right now, with his bare hands.

(Block.)

"It's not about anything, Nate."

(Parry.)

And then softly, so softly that Wade wasn't sure he'd heard him, Nate said, "I miss you, too."

"..."

Wade had a fistful of Nate's shirt, the other fist raised to pound him again, but suddenly the physical proximity was too much. Suddenly, he didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Wade let go and got to his feet. Stood over Cable for a few seconds, staring down at him (Cable stared back); walked a few paces away, not caring if he stepped on rocks. His vision was blurry for some reason. Probably the adrenaline. Turned so that his back was to Nate, whom he'd left lying on the ground.

"I don't miss you," Wade said, to the desert.

There were noises from behind him, noises of cloth, metal, and leather shifting on hard-baked soil; small pebbles scattering; heavy-booted feet scraping. Nate was getting up.

"You never call, you never write," Wade said. Dammit. He didn't want to make jokes. Not now. It wasn't funny. Not that that meant it was, you know, important. It just plain wasn't funny.

Footsteps, close behind him.

Nate's voice, too close to his ear.

"I'm sorry," he said, and put his (non-metallic) hand on Wade's shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Nate's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing. And Wade wasn't going to break, he wasn't; he wasn't even close, although half of him wanted to turn around and deck his friend (was that what they were to each other? what were they?) again, and the other half (traitor) wanted to do something he was trying really hard not to think about.

"What are you sorry for?" His voice sounded funny, which kind of made sense because his throat felt funny. Tense. Sore and tight, and the night air or the adrenaline or something was making his eyes water. His healing factor must be asleep at the wheel. Or something.

"For not seeing the trees for the forest. For getting so caught up in the big picture that I let important details slide. For...taking you for granted?"

...Weird. Nate didn't sound condescending. He sounded sincere. But then, Nate always sounded sincere, even when he was being condescending. Still...

"Hmph," Wade said. Okay, though. He was still pissed, he still didn't know why, but there were worse things Nate could have said. "Thought you'd forgotten about me."

"How could you think that?"

He snorted. "How could I not?" (Bitter? He wasn't bitter. Or hurt. Definitely not bitter or hurt.) "Why wouldn't the saviour of the world several times over forget the class clown?"

"That doesn't describe either of us and you know it. Caricatures are easy."

"Maybe for you, but I worked really hard on that - "

"Wade." This time Nate's voice sounded tired. And he dropped his hand.

"What?"

"I'm getting tired of talking to your back."

Wade thought about it. "Tough."

(Cooperate? That easily? It just went against the grain.)

A hand on his shoulder again, and Nate spun him around; Wade's fists came up automatically. This time Nate grabbed them.

"Stop."

Wade broke his grip. "No."

Because now he did want to fight. Fighting was good, that was how Wade liked it. It made everything better; made the pain of being alive retreat so he could concentrate on just being. No time to think, just react. He really didn't want to think right now. Really really really -

He tried to haul back his arm for another go, but Nate was ahead of him this time, circling him with his left arm (which felt very metallic, and very heavy, and very techno-organic-y), pinning his arms to his sides and crushing him against Nate's (strong, broad, manly, but who noticed things like that?) chest.

"Let me go," Wade said into Nate's shirt.

"Why? So you can pretend you don't care on my face some more?"

"...Yes?"

"Tough," Nate said.


	5. Chapter 5

Nate's shirt smelled like Nate.

Nate's shirt smelled like sweat, and gun oil, and dirt (and was that WD-40?), and fighting, and like everything Wade liked best in the whole wide world.

"Except circus peanuts," Wade said.

He could feel Nate blinking. "What?"

"Circus peanuts. Those orange marshmallow ones? I love those."

"I...see," Nate said, even though he didn't.

"You don't smell like them."

Nate's chest rumbled. That might have been a laugh, but Wade didn't care. Nate was here, and Nate was now, and with Nate, you could never be sure he was going to be either of those things.

And Nate was holding him. To prevent him punching things, of course. Right? Because he was dangerous. And angry. And especially dangerous when angry.

Except, funny thing, he didn't seem to be angry any more. It had kind of just...drained right out of him.

Weird. But he could work with it.

"Um...Nate?"

"Yes?"

"Is this a, you know, a manly hug?"

Nate gave that rare, short, deep bark of laughter that Wade had missed, oh God, so much, and loosened his grip just a little.

He could throw a punch. If he wanted.

Nate might even let him.

Well, that took all the fun right out of it. Or would have, if he'd been having fun...but somehow, he hadn't, and somehow, he didn't feel so much like fighting any more. He definitely felt like doing something that could conceivably involve violent exertion, but not so much with the punching and the hitting. Not just now.

Wade looked up (his right arm was numb from the elbow down - damn, that techno-organic mesh was strong) and saw Nate smiling. Not a smirk, not one of those Nate-faces that made his fists feel funny; but a real smile, one of those Nate-faces that made him feel funny in an entirely different way.

"What do you think?" Nate said.

Wade opened his mouth to say something (which was probably going to be very witty indeed; the world totally missed out there), but before he could get the words out, Nate's mouth came down on his. Hard. Like a blow, like a fist, like the best thing ever, and seriously, it was about time, because Wade was just starting to be scared that maybe it wasn't going to be one of those fics after all.

Nate came up for air. Gave him a look. A considering look, like maybe he was wondering how he'd react.

For such a smart guy, Nate could be really, really stupid sometimes.

"Totally manly," Wade said. "Maybe you haven't forgotten me."

"What was your name again?"

"Jerk," Wade said happily. "I'm supposed to be the funny one." And to show Nate he meant business, he started unbuttoning Nate's shirt, and Nate was helping, and Wade was doing something very like nuzzling Nate's neck (except 100% more manly).

Wade bit. Just a little. A nip. Nate yelped in surprise (but in a rugged way).

"Remember the name," Wade said. "I mark my territory."

"Oh, I am yours, now?" that sounded amused.

"No," Wade said. "You always have been."

Nate looked at him, and the weird thing was that Wade was completely serious, and the even weirder thing was that Nate looked like he didn't mind a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

For once in his life, Wade Wilson was having no trouble focusing.

It should have been awkward. It should have been all ten known kinds of strange and one not discovered yet. But it wasn't.

It wasn't as if they hadn't merged - bodies, minds, biochemistries, destinies - more than once. It wasn't as if either of them was unaware of this thing, unspoken and unacted upon (until now), but always there, in the back of each other's minds.

Old reflexes, once used for sparring, the ability to anticipate and counterbalance one another's movements, were put to new uses.

And Wade had thought Nate had forgotten him. He was going to make sure he never even began to think of forgetting him again.

Nate had spread his overcoat on the ground (Mr. Thoughtful, Mr. Always-Prepared-for-the-Unexpected). One of Wade's hands was tangled in Nate's hair, the other had finished with the strip of magnetic buttons on Nate's shirt and was now fumbling with the more-complicated-than-they-looked closure-thingies on Nate's belt and pants (which were being less than cooperative - tailors in the future seriously sucked - until Nate laughed and helped), and his mouth was doing terrible, wonderful, very creative things up and down the length of Nate's torso.

Nate was making sounds that Wade had never heard him make before. Music to his ears.

"Good?"

"Mnn. Yes. Like that."

"I might not look like much, you know, but I know what to do with what I got," Wade said. "Killer dexterity, lightning-fast refelexes - being badass in battle is not all I'm good for, and - "

"Might have known you wouldn't stay quiet for long..."

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. I mean girls! I don't usually - "

"Wade. It's me. You don't have anything to prove." And Nate pulled him down for another embrace, one that Wade suspected was meant to shut him up. Denied his usual outlet for expression by Nate's demanding mouth, Wade let his fingers do the walking again, and found, to his delight, that he could push Nate's buttons as well as the other way around.

This way was better. Lots better.

His (really very talented, if he did think so himself) hand was traveling downwards, brushing here, stopping there, kneading and massaging and deftly working until Nate relased Wade's mouth and began moaning in a gutteral way that made Wade's heart beat faster than it was already beating. Which was fast.

"Wade - stop - "

"Wassat?"

Nate placed his left hand over Wade's, effectively stopping any movement (Wade was a little disappointed; he had been enjoying themselves). "Wait. Not yet. How do you want to...?"

Oh. That was all right, then. "Whichever way you want. Hero's choice. Tonight I'm yours." (Tonight and always.)

"Thought you said I was yours."

"Yes to both. Yes to everything. Just yes."


	7. Chapter 7

The things you could do with telekenesis.

Or rather, the things Nate could do with it.

They'd paused, looking at each other for a few seconds, and this was one of the rare times Wade wished Nate could read his mind. Sometimes he could; sometimes he couldn't (depending on the stability of Wade's cellular regeneration, the strength of Nate's powers, and a whole host of other factors including the current weather in Argentina for all he knew), but on the whole more Not than Often.

But still, Wade knew Nate and Nate knew Wade, and even though they messed up the whole interpersonal interaction thing a lot, this was not one of those times.

Wade felt a tendril of touch caressing his face and sliding down the front of his t-shirt; then down his boxers, and wow that was good.

"Look, no hands," Nate said.

"Showoff," Wade said, "Diva." He stood and stripped off his t-shirt and boxers. He stood looking down at his...partner? (there really weren't enough words sometimes) and seeing not only acceptance, but desire in those blue eyes just about drove him wild.

Without breaking eye contact, Nate's telekenetic tendrils went to work on Wade's body again until Wade's knees buckled. Nngh. The man could give as good as he got.

It was a mutual consent thing, in the end. Wade stretched out again, flipped over, and yes, this was how they both wanted it.

"You sure?" Nate asked, touching Wade in about 20 places at once, finding erogenous zones Wade hadn't known he had.

"$#%*^#$!"

Nate laughed. "Okay, I guess you are sure."

"I'm not a patient man (I'm ready, I'm ready ready ready)...oh, God."

Nate claimed him, then, and Wade dug one hand into the ground, used the other to reach backwards to hook around one of Nate's arms, and hooked his foot around one of Nate's legs. Mine.

Wade stopped thinking and just felt, just reacted; like fighting but a thousand times better. This was probably one of the only perfect things he'd ever have in his life.

Wade's head said time stood still, and he hated that stupid cliche but it fit; everything fit, and they were the only things moving in all the world. Wade couldn't even remember half of the things that came out of his mouth, but they probably weren't words, and this is all I want, forever and always, until everything was a wild confusion of sound, touch, and motion. The world finally resolved itself again in dual explosions of sheer joy, and Nate collapsed on top of him. (He was heavy.) (Wade didn't care.)

They broke apart at last and lay side by side, sweat cooling quickly in the night air. Wade's head was actually almost quiet, for once.

"Hafgfhsajlhfjah," Wade said, finally. "Guh."

"My thoughts exactly," Nate said.

"You going to hog all the covers now?"

Nate smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

The desert was peaceful at night.

Kind of chilly, when you were naked, but peaceful.

"So what do we do for an encore?" Wade said, because silences were made to be broken. Especially by him.

"Actually..." Nate began, and Wade's headchatter started right up again, with the Oh nos and the I knew its and the please please pleases. He hated the last ones the most.

"...I have to get going, Wade."

(No. No. Noooooooooo. Nononono. I want a do-over. And over and over...)

"Okay, I'll come with you."

Nate looked pained. Great. Wade should have known better than to think anything meant anything, but give him an inch and he'd take six miles.

"I can't take you with me. I'm sorry."

"Of course you can't. Of course you are." Wade got up; started mechanically putting the few clothes he had back on.

"Cut it out." Nate's voice was almost sharp, and Wade looked over at him. He did look sorry, but not as sorry as Wade felt.

"What?"

"The self-pity. Look. You think this is easy for me?" Nate was frowning and beginning to get dressed as well (Wade could tell he was distracted because he put his boots on first, then cussed, took them off again, and reached for his pants).

"Since you ask, yeah. I do think it's easy for you. Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Stop, already."

"No."

"Wade. I'm not joking. It involves a time paradox, one I can't tell you about. I know that sounds like an excuse, but it's not. You yourself said the bodyslide shoudn't have worked, and I've already endangered a series of future events by taking this...interlude. And I did it knowingly. That should tell you something."

Nate was frowning harder now, and wrestling with his belt buckle. (Future tailors. Just no good at all.)

And Nate was right. Of course Nate was right. There was really no arguing with that. (Though Wade could have if he'd wanted to.) Several conflicting emotions chased themselves around in his head. As usual, but differently.)

Finally, he said, "This whole making-personal-sacrifices-for-the-good-of-the-world gig? Totally sucks."

One corner of Nate's mouth quirked upwards. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Wade was staring at the ground so hard that it would have disintegrated if he'd been Nate's dad. "I hate goodbyes."

"We'll meet again, Wade."

"That doesn't make it feel any better."

"Hey. If you ever start thinking I'm going to forget you again, I'll hunt you down no matter where I am in the timestream and kick your butt." Nate was smiling, but a little sadly.

"Is that a threat?"

"That's a promise."

"Jerk."

"Idiot," Nate said affectionately. "Bodyslide by one."

The world dissolved.

* * *

He was back in his apartment, right where he'd been to start with.

This could be an excuse for his mind to start insisting that he'd been hallucinating, but the facts that his t-shirt was on inside-out, he'd tracked sand and pebbles all over the floor, he was sore in places that rarely got sore, and he smelled like Nate, Nate, Nate and Nate with a side of Wade-and-Nate kind of argued against the whole hallucination theory.

Good.

Why could life never hand him some Awesome without counterbalancing it with a huge slab of Suck, though? It just wasn't fair.

Still...

Still.

He'd need a shower, but for right now he was going to bask in the afterglow for a bit. It would have been better if Nate was there too, but now he at least knew Nate was keeping an eye on him...the interfering know-it-all.

Wade sat down, and picked up the remote.

Click.

Casablanca was on. He'd only seen that 50 times; it was time for #51.

And who knew what the future held? Well, Nate did, but who else? Maybe even Good Things For Deadpool. You never knew, right?

"We'll always have the middle of nowhere," he said, to the empty apartment.

And smiled. Just a little.


End file.
